A Lost Moment
by iRawr4u
Summary: After the leviathans walk into the lake Dean tries to clean the trench coat. Destiel. Angst.


He'd probably cried, what? Like five times since they'd come back from the lake. Or maybe it was six? Either way, by the time he got around to cleaning Cas's coat his eyes were red and puffy, and he could barely see past his own nose.

"Dammit Cas" Had become his mantra. Every five minutes or so he'd say it, along with a string of curses a mile long. Then of course, with the end of each round of cursing came the apologies. "I'm sorry for being a dick, Cas.", "I didn't mean it Cas.", "You can pop in now if you want. I don't care...just show up please."

Which started the crying again.

"Fuck," Dean muttered, looking down at the coat that he'd just finished drying. The beige fabric was stained black in places -splotches of the inky black stuff that had leaked off of him towards the end- and nothing he did could wash them out.

Tossing the coat down he leaned against the washing machine and closed his eyes. He'd felt hopeless before, but this. This was like someone had scooped everything left inside of him and thrown it away. When his eyes opened again the coat was right in front of him. Glaring at him. He could still see the black stains. In that moment all the frustrations that he'd packed away since they'd figured out what Cas was doing behind their backs seemed to surge to the surface.

Rage filled him then white and hot, crashing through all the defenses he'd built up through the years. Anger at Cas, at the world, at the fucked up hand that they kept getting dealt. All of it. He was tired of it. Taking the coat in his hands he felt his muscles grow tense as he fought the building urge to rip it apart. "Fuck you Cas. Fuck you." He spat.

But then just like that the rage was gone. Or at least it was falling back. The rage had swelled and in it's wake his blood boiled in his veins and his vision grew blurry and tinged with red. In its wake was a grief so raw and painful Dean was almost sure his chest had been sliced open. Still holding the coat like it was a lifeline he slid down to his knees. The sobs were coming again ugly, and rage filled they shook his entire body so violently it hurt. But pain was good wasn't it? If you feel pain then at least you're feeling something. It's what he'd been telling himself all these years. Better to feel it all cause at least then you know you're not completely dead inside.

But how much longer could he handle the pain?

Loneliness. He'd worked hard to fight it off for his whole life. When mom died he'd clung to Dad and Sammy. When Sam left he'd worked harder to please Dad. When Dad left, he'd spent some time alone...but eventually he couldn't handle it and had dragged Sam back in. Over and over the cycle had continued with new faces coming and going in increasingly brutal ways. Everywhere he turned as soon as he cared enough about someone, Fate saw fit to rip them away. And now he was alone again. This time in a dingy little washing room with nothing but Cas's coat in his hands.

Yeah he could go out and Sam and Bobby would be waiting for him, but Dean didn't want them to see him like this. He didn't want to let on exactly how much Cas had meant to him. Even though they probably already knew. Next time he saw them he wanted all of this to be over, safely tucked away in that little box where he kept these sort of feelings.

Lifting the coat up he rubbed his thumbs over the fabric. It was rough but warm from the dryer, the black stains mixed now with the wet spots from his tears. Lifting it up he held it against his face and closed his eyes. "You stupid bastard. You stupid, stupid bastard." No more tears came, he'd cried himself out and now his eyes were dry and irritating.

Sucking in a half choked breath Dean climbed up onto shaky legs and just stood there. What could he do now? He still couldn't believe Cas was really gone. As much as the pain in his heart told him it was true his brain seemed to be in denial so deep it was like he'd fallen into the Grand Canyon.

Slowly, like he was dealing with a small child or a baby, Dean set the coat across the top of the washing machine. He didn't know much about what it took to clean or dry this thing. It was a lot fancier, more expensive than anything Sam and he had ever owned and apparently an angel's grace repelled dirt or something cause he'd never seen it stay dirty. Of course now there was none of that and it seemed that no matter how many times he washed it he'd never get those black stains out. Sighing in defeat Dean began to fold it.

It took a couple of tries before he was satisfied that he'd found a way to do it so you couldn't really see the stains. But once that was done he felt stuck, like he'd hit a wall. He didn't feel right. The wound in his chest still felt fresh and tender, and he was pretty sure that his eyes said everything he didn't want Bobby and Sam to know. He couldn't leave just yet. Not till he'd pushed it all down to the deepest part of himself and smothered it like a wayward flame. It was one thing to have that dark undercurrent flowing around you, the elephant in the room everyone chose to ignore. It was a completely different bag of demons to have all those things spilling out of your eyes where the world could see it.


End file.
